


rise and shine

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Senga wakes Tamamori up.





	rise and shine

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for kink bingo (sleepy/unconscious).

Senga’s not usually the first one awake, especially when he only went to sleep four hours ago, but the presence in his bed is enough to rouse him. It’s certainly not uncommon for another member to stay over between heavy work days, even share his bed, though he’s used to Nikaido sleeping like a giant, shaggy dog complete with loud breathing and sometimes drool as he flops halfway on top of Senga.

Tamamori sleeps like a log, completely still and on his back with his hands folded on his stomach like they were placed that way. Senga’s thoughts would turn morbid if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of Tamamori’s breathing, barely audible unless Senga listens really hard or leans down close to his face. He’s the ideal person to share a bed with, Senga has learned, since he stays over on his side and doesn’t steal the covers.

It’s early enough for Senga’s brain to still be muddled by sleep, no conscience to stop him from stealing the covers himself. He wonders if Tamamori will notice, if he will wake up or just whine like Nikaido does. Senga’s fascinated by how people sleep, and differently. He’s seen all the members asleep at least once, and no two are alike. Even Kitayama who falls asleep where he sits will lean toward any kind of touch, like a puppy seeking affection. People are at their cutest when they’re asleep, Senga thinks. And the most vulnerable.

Like the rest of the world, spring hasn’t quite graced Japan with its warmer weather yet, leading Tamamori to become aware of the early morning chill within the first minute of being uncovered. He’s dressed enough, in a T-shirt and sweatpants, though his shirt rides up a little in the front to expose most of his abdomen. Tamamori has sure sculpted his body, Senga thinks as he admires the defined muscles. Those sharp grooves in his skin just make Senga want to touch them, run his fingers along them and feel them for himself.

Even half awake, Senga knows that’s a little creepy, so he directs his attention up to where Tamamori’s familiar frown graces his face, just with his eyes closed this time. He looks like he wants to squirm in discomfort, but his body doesn’t want to move, nor does his vocal chords want to voice his displeasure. He’s beautiful normally, Senga assesses, but most of all like this, so pure and uninhibited. It makes Senga wonder how far he can get before Tamamori wakes up.

He starts at Tamamori’s arm, mostly because it’s the closest part of him to where Senga’s curled up on his side. It takes a few tries for Senga to get his hand to move, but the prospect of Tamamori’s unconscious reaction is promising enough to make it worth the effort. The sleeve of the T-shirt is entirely too long in Senga’s opinion, but there’s still a good amount of skin before he gets to Tamamori’s elbow. There’s muscle there, too, and it feels nice under Senga’s fingertips, the texture softening as he reaches the bend.

Even the hair on Tamamori’s forearm is soft, the skin bumping a little under Senga’s light touch. A brief hitch in Tamamori’s breath has Senga pausing long enough to examine Tamamori’s face, now twitching like it’s thinking about moving but hasn’t quite gotten there yet, and carefully Senga continues across the even softer hands and overlapped fingers onto the other arm and back up.

He has to scoot closer to reach across Tamamori, his nose millimeters from Tamamori’s shoulder on which he really wants to rest his head, if just to keep from leaning up on his own elbow. This time he crosses the fabric of Tamamori’s sleeve up to the collar, which is rather wide and allows Senga quite an expanse of skin to explore without being indecent. Tamamori’s collarbones are the most prominent and call Senga’s attention so loudly that he’s already drifting his fingers along the bone before his brain actively registers it.

Now Tamamori inhales sharply and Senga feels the smallest quiver beneath his fingers, the beginning of a squirm that Tamamori’s body wants to give. He doesn’t stop, continuing along the border of Tamamori’s collar until he’s back where he first started, only on the other side of the sleeve. Curiously he drags his fingers toward Tamamori’s throat, which instantly stretches with a low exhale, welcoming his touch. Tamamori’s still far from awake, but it’s more enticing that way and Senga lightly touches Tamamori’s throat, fascinated at the way the older man’s Adam’s apple bobs involuntarily in response.

Suddenly Tamamori’s head falls to the side, eyes still closed and breathing a bit uneven, though it just calls Senga’s fingers to his face. This touch seems to relax Tamamori, his frown fading as Senga’s fingers run up his jaw to his temple, where he pushes Tamamori’s atrocious morning hair out of his face as much as he can. This close, he can see Tamamori’s eyes moving under his eyelids, clearly in some stage of REM sleep, while his lips part just enough for a gasp of air to escape through them.

Senga’s paying so much attention to Tamamori’s face that he doesn’t notice one of Tamamori’s hands falling from his belly, landing at his side and bending at the elbow to nudge Senga’s arm with nonmoving fingers. Senga freezes, the sharp singe of his nerves a prelude to the cringe he’s not awake enough for, but Tamamori just brushes his knuckles down Senga’s forearm to where his fingers are on Tamamori’s cheek, urging them back down to his throat.

_Oh_. Senga returns to tracing the veins of Tamamori’s throat, with unconscious permission this time, and Tamamori breathes in a deep sigh as his head straightens back on the pillow. This time Senga goes all the way up to the back of Tamamori’s jaw, behind his ear, then along the shell of his ear that has the cartilage piercing. Tamamori’s subsequent gasp startles Senga enough to wake up, now fully aware of what he’s doing though he has no intentions of stopping, not when Tamamori’s reacting this favorably and still pressing a limp wrist against his arm to encourage him.

Then the weight of that wrist disappears, and Senga looks down to see both of Tamamori’s arms at his side, his torso completely straight as he leans his head back, inviting. Senga eyes the exposed abdomen again for approximately five seconds before making his way there, slowly crossing the bunched up T-shirt covering Tamamori’s chest to give the other man a chance to stop him. On the contrary, Tamamori arches and sucks in his stomach, making Senga’s hand practically fall down onto the hard muscles, which contract under his touch.

Now Tamamori moans, a real one that’s deep enough for Senga to feel through his fingers, and something that is definitely not sleepy curiosity courses through Senga’s veins and rouses him in a different way. He should stop, or at least wake up Tamamori, but he’s gone too far and all he can do is trace the patterns of Tamamori’s abdominal muscles until the waistband of Tamamori’s sweatpants block his path.

“Tama-chan,” Senga whispers, his own voice groggy from nonuse, and Tamamori’s eyelashes flutter a little on his face. Senga’s fingers don’t stop moving, wanting to feel even more now that Tamamori’s making interesting noises, and they slip under Tamamori’s shirt before Senga’s conscience kicks in. “Tama-chan, wake up.”

The following groan is all too familiar, Tamamori’s signature whine when they try to get him to do something he doesn’t want to, only less restrained and much more attractive. He pouts and moves his head from side to side in what Senga identifies as a ‘no’ shake, but he doesn’t get more than one complete rotation before his head flops on the side facing Senga again.

Tamamori mumbles something indecipherable, leaning his shoulders back in a lazy stretch, and Senga has never been more turned on in his life as Tamamori lies on display for him, basically giving him free reign to do whatever he wants. Senga wants to take advantage of it, maybe touch certain parts of Tamamori to see if that will get him to wake up, but all he can bring himself to do in the current state is run his hand up Tamamori’s sternum under his shirt and trace all of his ribs.

That’s enough to have Tamamori making a faint effort at squirming, small wheezes of air slipping through his lips that Senga can’t keep his eyes off of. He finds himself moving closer, awake enough to know better but entranced enough not to care, though he changes course at the last second and presses his mouth to Tamamori’s neck instead. Now he can feel Tamamori’s noises against his lips, which he drags down Tamamori’s shoulder and along the collarbones he’d already touched with his fingers.

Speaking of his fingers, they’ve dropped from Tamamori’s chest back down to his abdomen, growing more and more interested in the barrier keeping him from going further. From the tiny movements of Tamamori’s hips, Senga would say he’s pretty interested in it too, but he won’t do that until Tamamori is awake. That doesn’t stop him from trailing his fingers as low as he can get, though, back and forth even as Tamamori’s stomach concaves and his squirms become more defined.

Tamamori whines again, and Senga lifts his head just in time to see those beautiful eyes open, at least enough to squint at the person above him. He mumbles something inquisitive, a garbled rendition of Senga’s first name, and Senga sheepishly pulls his hand away and tries to hide under the covers.

“Why’d you stop?” Tamamori asks, more coherently this time, and Senga blinks at him.

“Are you awake?” Senga counter asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Awake enough to be glad you’re not Miyacchi,” Tamamori tells him, followed by a short laugh that shows off his lopsided smile and something twists deep inside of Senga.

“Well, in that case…” Senga trails off, scooting even closer than before and returning his hand to Tamamori’s torso, which actively curls toward him. Strong arms wrap around him, fingers slipping under his own shirt and it’s infinitely better when the touch is reciprocated, when Tamamori nudges his nose along Senga’s cheek to bring their lips together in a rather eager kiss.

It doesn’t last very long, due to the consequences of the morning as well as Senga breaching the waistband of Tamamori’s pants now that he can, leading Tamamori to toss his head back with a choked moan that goes right into Senga’s own sleep shorts. His fingers bump something hard and leaking and now Tamamori’s hips are snapping up, his noises growing more defined as Senga becomes more and more grateful that his mom went back to live with his dad and brother awhile ago, leaving him basically on his own.

He curls his fingers around the head and Tamamori’s touches become bolder, sifting through the sweat on Senga’s back before relocating to the front, where one hand reaches up to thumb a nipple while the other drops right between his legs, earning a mixture of noises that seem to battle each other in Senga’s throat. His own fingers tighten around Tamamori’s cock as Tamamori gropes his, first through his shorts and then directly, and now Senga’s breath is laced with low groans to match Tamamori’s.

“I’m so tired,” Tamamori says, and Senga almost laughs at him complaining even like this, but then he goes on. “I bet it would be really easy to go inside me right now.”

“Tama-chan,” Senga gasps, his body more than approving of the idea by the way it starts thrusting into Tamamori’s hand. “Do you really want to?”

“Yeah.” Tamamori moans as Senga’s hand moves up and down his cock, stroking him properly. “It’s your fault, because you woke me up this way and now it’s all I can think about.”

“Mm, I can do it, if you want,” Senga tells him, his voice coming out dirtier than he’d intended, though Tamamori doesn’t seem to have any problem with that. “Like this?”

Tamamori nods as Senga crawls the rest of the way on top of him to emphasize, and also to reach across him into the bedside drawer. Tamamori’s legs fall open to accept him, and Senga already knows that Tamamori’s not going to move a single muscle, aside from possibly the one in Senga’s hand, and only if Senga keeps touching it. More importantly, there are entirely too many clothes between them, and Senga finds that he’s not nearly awake enough to coherently undress them both.

The second time he gets tangled in his own shirt after managing to get Tamamori out of his own clothes, he finds Tamamori grinning up at him. “You could help, you know,” Senga hisses, though it’s only a little bitterly since Tamamori’s hand is still in his shorts.

“I could,” Tamamori replies, entirely facetiously, and Senga wonders if it was better when Tamamori was asleep. But before he can voice that, Tamamori snatches the tube from Senga’s hand and lifts his knees to his chest, folding his long legs that spread to bare everything to Senga.

While Senga stares dumbfounded, Tamamori lazily coats his fingers with lube and makes his way between his own legs, gasping as he teases himself a little before pushing one in.

“Damn,” Senga says, and Tamamori smirks.

“See, I’m helping,” Tamamori tells him pointedly, his own breath catching in his throat when he puts in a second. “The least you can do is take your clothes off.”

Narrowing his eyes, Senga yanks his shirt over his head and shoves down the rest, but his indignation only lasts until Tamamori moves his fingers in and out of his body more quickly and makes a noise that has Senga rushes to roll on a condom. He watches Tamamori get in a third finger and push back more sharply, filthy groans falling from his lips as he stretches himself even further.

“Mm, it _is_ easier in the morning,” Tamamori reports, shooting Senga a lustful gaze before tossing his head back onto the pillow, his mess of dark hair splayed everywhere as his back arches into his own touch. “Anytime you want to start doing the work, Ken-chan.”

Senga scoffs as he tears his eyes away from where Tamamori’s fingers keep disappearing inside himself, focusing them on Tamamori’s reddening face. He looks even more gorgeous like this, which makes Senga want to see how much better it gets when he’s getting fucked. With a sudden jolt of electricity coursing through him, Senga bats Tamamori’s wrist out of the way and feels for himself, groaning at the way Tamamori’s muscles tighten around his fingers as he makes sure Tamamori’s ready for him.

He adds more lube onto his cock and leans over Tamamori, wrapping his arms around Tamamori’s thighs as he looks down into Tamamori’s red face, eyes burning with arousal. He fingers Tamamori long enough to find his spot, groaning at the way he jerks and lets out a desperate cry, which has Senga yanking out his hand and guiding his cock to the stretched opening.

They both moan as he slowly pushes in, Tamamori’s noises escalating in pitch with each centimeter. Senga shudders from the constriction, pausing halfway to gather himself before continuing on. When he bottoms out, all he can do is moan Tamamori’s name, which is reciprocated by those hands on his back, squeezing his muscles in an undeniable plea to move.

Clearly Senga’s hips are more awake than he is, building up to a decent pace faster than Senga’s brain can process, at least more than the spikes of arousal all over his body and the obscene noises Tamamori makes with each thrust. Senga tries to lean back enough to keep up the speed, but his own weight is too much to hold up and he falls forward, face landing right on Tamamori’s chest where it only takes a bit of effort to mouth his way to one of Tamamori’s nipples.

“Oh yeah,” Tamamori gasps, his body rocking in contrast to Senga’s rhythm. “Fuck me harder, come on, you can do it.”

The filthy words have the desired effect, pulling a guttural moan from deep within Senga’s lungs as he follows orders and snaps his hips as hard as he can. This seems to satisfy Tamamori, who shudders and arches beneath him, muscles tightening like Senga’s hitting that spot over and over. Senga’s sweating so much that’s actually giving him a chill, the cold morning air chilling the moisture on his back even as it drips from him.

“Ken-chan,” Tamamori moans after awhile, his skin hot all over and trembling under Senga’s hands and lips. “Touch me, please, I’m so close.”

“You seem to like to do it yourself,” Senga replies, just to be ornery. “You do it.”

“Ken- _chan_ ,” Tamamori whines, and Senga grabs him by the ass and thrusts even deeper, harder, enough to pull uncontrollable grunts from his own mouth. “Fuck, fine, I’ll do it.”

Senga would be smug if he wasn’t so focused on holding off his orgasm, which becomes increasingly more difficult as Tamamori takes his cock in hand and tugs. He doesn’t waste any time, moaning even more loudly as he pulls himself off, fingers squeezing tightly around the shaft while thumbing the head. Senga leans his forehead against Tamamori’s collarbone and watches as much as he can, hearing Tamamori’s noises right in his ear and feeling the muscles surrounding him.

“Gonna come,” Tamamori gets out, and Senga makes it until he sees the first squirt of release before giving in to his own desires. He has to use even more force to push through the growing resistance of Tamamori’s body, which brings his orgasm crashing over him even faster, harder, more intense.

Senga’s muscles keep twitching even when they don’t want to move, though he makes the effort to roll off of Tamamori enough for the other man to stretch out his legs with a sharp hiss. Senga hisses just as much as he snaps off the condom and exudes the effort to toss it in the trash can next to his bed, but he’s sure that doesn’t compare to Tamamori’s discomfort.

“This isn’t going to help me dance better, you know,” Tamamori grumbles, but he’s laughing through it.

“Then you’ll just have to stay late to work with me again,” Senga tells him, sounding just as promising as he’d intended, and Tamamori’s arm flops over to grab his wrist and yank him closer.

“Only if you wake me up like that again,” Tamamori says, and Senga secretly hopes that Tamamori always sucks at dancing.


End file.
